


It's Different This Time Round

by WhatIsAir



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War Trailer compliant, M/M, boys not talking about their feelings, sam is a good bro, steve not being subtle at all, there is no subtlety in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6513388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIsAir/pseuds/WhatIsAir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your mom’s name was Sarah,” Bucky says, voice hoarse with disuse.<br/>“You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” Bucky offers, licking his cracked lips.<br/>“We used to fuck,” Bucky blurts out, and Steve winces because it's true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Different This Time Round

Steve places the flowers in the vase on Peggy’s nightstand and sits down, folding his hands in his lap.

“I just don’t know what to do, Peg,” he confesses quietly, “I’ve tried bringing him home, but Buck – he doesn’t. I don’t think he remembers where home is anymore.”

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy murmurs, brown eyes crinkling with fondness, “It’s been a long time, but if there’s one thing I remember about that boy, it’s that he’ll always follow you home. He did it during the war, and don’t you worry, he’ll do it again.”

-

In the end, Steve shouldn’t have worried, because Peggy was right.

Bucky _does_ come back.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah,” Bucky says, voice hoarse with disuse.

Steve tears his eyes away from Bucky’s left arm, focusses instead on the way Bucky’s holding himself: head tilted down, eyes to somewhere left of Steve’s shoes, his whole body hunched in on himself.

“You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” Bucky offers, licking his cracked lips.

Steve glances at Sam, whose arms are folded over his chest. He raises his hands and shoots Steve a look that says _your call, man_.

He keeps his hands in Bucky’s line of sight and starts walking towards him, slow and cautious. “Buck –”

Bucky startles, jerking his head up to level the full intensity of the Soldier’s steely glare on Steve. “You – we used to –”

Steve waits.

“We used to fuck,” Bucky blurts out, no finesse, not a question either: just the facts, stripped back and laid bare.

Sam sucks in a sharp breath from where he’s stood in the corner.

Steve winces, and steadfastly keeps his eyes fixed on Bucky. He doesn’t deny it, but he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to look Sam in the eye again.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” Steve murmurs instead, reaching out a hand.

Bucky grips it tight, lets Steve haul him to his feet.

“Whoa, easy there, Buck!” Steve moves to catch Bucky as he sways, dangerously off-kilter.

Bucky rights himself and doesn’t protest when Steve slings Bucky’s arm over his neck, supporting his weight as they make their way across the warehouse floor.

-

“So,” Sam says, clearing his throat awkwardly, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “What’s the plan?”

Steve lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, gratitude at Sam for tactfully (wisely) avoiding the topic welling in his chest.

“I’m not calling anyone in,” he says, leaning back on the motel’s bed, “SHIELD’s gonna want to lock him up, take him apart. I have a feeling Bucky’s had enough of people messing with his head lately.”

“Okay,” Sam says, keeping his tone neutral.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “You think I should call them in.”

Sam raises his hands, backing off. “I didn’t s _ay_ that. I just –”

“But you think I should,” Steve says flatly, crossing his arms.

The sound of running water shuts off; Steve and Sam both glance at the closed bathroom door, then back at each other.

“Look,” Steve pitches his voice low, “Just give him a chance.” _Give_ us _a chance_ , he doesn’t say.

Sam looks unconvinced.

“I’d trust him with my life, Sam,” Steve says. “He’s not gonna hurt anyone. He’s just – confused.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Sam mutters, then – “Yeah, okay. No calling SHIELD, I got you.”

Steve breathes again. “Thank you.”

The bathroom door opens and Bucky steps out, a towel slung across his hips, steam billowing out behind him.

“That door ain’t soundproof, you know,” Bucky says, glaring at them. He doesn’t look impressed.

“Uh,” Sam says, glancing at Steve for help. Steve shakes his head: _you’re on your own, pal_.

“Here,” Steve says, standing up and rummaging in his duffel bag for an extra shirt and sweatpants that he then tosses at Bucky.

Bucky catches them, then (much to Sam’s dismay) lets the towel fall to the floor and changes in front of his unwitting audience.

Steve splutters, ducking his head and pretending to be deeply engrossed in the contents of his duffel bag to give Bucky the illusion of privacy. Sam takes to staring out the motel’s dirt-stained window, humming senselessly under his breath.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Bucky says, and Steve whips his head up, concern for Bucky overriding his concern over the embarrassment of the situation.

Bucky is staring down at his chest with a look of abject horror. He’s wearing a My Little Pony shirt, this particularly pony having a red-white-and-blue shield emblazoned on its flank (Stark’s idea of a joke). ‘RIDE ME’ the shirt says in large, obnoxiously loopy letters over the pony’s head.

Sam coughs into his hand to hide his laughter, and Steve feels his face heat up as Bucky turns to him for an explanation.

“It’s… um,” Steve manages, “It was the only extra shirt I had.”

Bucky’s glare could’ve cut glass. (Steve’s just glad he hasn’t had a chance to see any of Steve’s _other_ shirts.)

-

Their plan to lie low is a complete bust.

Steve jerks awake in the middle of the night to find Bucky standing over him.

“Whatisit, Buck,” he mutters sleepily.

“They’re here,” Bucky says, low and urgent.

Steve sits bolt upright and smacks his forehead against Bucky’s.

“Ow,” Bucky says accusingly, then, as if remembering himself – “They’ve got the building surrounded. I think,” he cocks his head, and Steve will never get over how _eerie_ his Winter Soldier sixth sense is, “twenty-five men, all armed.”

Steve chucks a pillow at Sam, catching him in the head. “Wake up, we’ve got company.”

Sam groans, “Who the hell’s coming at this time of night? I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“Twenty-five armed hostiles, all gunning for me,” Bucky deadpans, “You’re lucky if they don’t kill you first.”

That wakes Sam up. “ _Shit_.”

They spend the next minute jostling each other as they do their best to get suited up in the cramped motel room.

Steve curses every single buckle on his suit as his fingers scramble to do them up. “Dammit,” he hisses, when one of the straps get stuck.

“You’re doing it wrong, punk,” Bucky snaps, stepping out from the shadows he’d been lounging in and knocking Steve’s hands aside to finish the job for him. He gets the straps done in no time and claps Steve on the shoulder. “All done.”

“Th – thanks,” Steve says, eyeing the curve of Bucky’s downturned mouth, the way his eyes never quite meet Steve’s anymore when he speaks.

He turns to find Sam suited up and flight-ready. “What’s the plan, Cap?”

Steve takes a deep breath, squeezes Bucky’s arm in reassurance ( _for_ reassurance).

“Don’t let them shoot at you. And if they do, take ‘em out.”

-

“Hold still,” Steve mutters, in the process of stitching up one of the deeper knife wounds on Bucky’s chest (which he’d gotten because he’d been far too busy watching Steve’s six than watching his own back).

“Hurts,” Bucky says, grimacing as Steve pulls the needle out.

“Buck, you didn’t have to,” Steve says. “I can look after myself.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, right. Looked like you were doing a fine job of it there.”

Sam sticks his head into the bathroom. “He has a point. There were like, six men on your ass.”

Steve glares at him, jerking his thumb over his shoulder: _leave_. Sam does, heading back to the living room of the safe house they’re in and switching on the TV.

He turns back to Bucky. “I can handle myself, Buck.”

Bucky raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Okay, champ,” he drawls, Brooklyn seeping back into his voice. “If you say so. I’ll let you deal with a knife to the chest next time, promise.”

Steve finishes stitching Bucky up, claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’re good,” he says, then, as Bucky pushes himself off the sink and makes to leave, Steve murmurs, “Thanks.”

“Anytime, punk.” Bucky sketches out a salute, his smile almost reaching his eyes this time, and something clenched tight in Steve’s chest loosens.

-

SHIELD calls the next day, and Steve panics for a good half-hour before he receives Hill’s text and remembers he’s actually semi-employed by them and not every call he receives is a threat to bring the Soldier in.

He and Sam leave Bucky in the safe house, heading to Manhattan to take care of the situation with the rest of the team. It turns out to be Dr. Doom and his robots (again); and between him, Sam, Natasha and Thor (Clint’s in Ljubljana and Thor’s cell service in Asgard isn’t the best) they manage to take out the bots before lunch, with minimal destruction of public property.

After, Sam sits him down in a diner (they’re still fully suited up) and orders one of every item on the menu.

“How are we gonna finish all of that?” Steve asks.

“I,” Sam says, “am gonna be in charge of the pancakes. You can deal with the rest.”

“But I’m not hung –”

Sam jabs a pancake-laden fork at him. “You barely ate this morning. You’ve barely eaten since Bucky turned up, no,” he says as Steve opens his mouth to protest, “You know it’s true. You’ve had, like, half a meal since he showed up, too busy worrying about him to eat properly. Trust me, you’re gonna be hungry when the food gets here.”

The waiter sets down waffles, and bacon, and omelettes, and Steve’s stomach lets out a rumble.

“See?” Sam says sagely, stealing one of Steve’s bacon strips.

“Hey,” Steve protests, and steals one of Sam’s pancakes in retaliation.

-

They get back to find the safe house eerily quiet and empty. Steve’s heart plummets.

“Bucky?” He strides through the living room, down the hall, checks the bathroom and the bedrooms and the closet.

“ _Goddammit_ , Buck,” he says, when he spots his duffel bag open, its contents strewn across the floor.

He rifles through the items once, and then again, before sitting back on his heels in defeat.

“It’s gone,” he says hollowly.

Sam doesn’t look surprised. “The file?”

Steve nods, then buries his face in the palms of his hands. He can picture it all-too-clearly in his mind: Bucky, growing restless and antsy the longer Steve and Sam are gone, prowling around the safe house to check for bugs, rummaging through Steve’s bag and stumbling across the file with the entire _history_ of how the Soviets remade and reprogrammed the Soldier on it.

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, the words tasting like ash in the back of his throat.

-

They find him or, more accurately, he finds _them_ , in a rundown hotel in Brooklyn.

He’s perched on the fire escape on the third floor up, and he greets them like old friends.

“Steve!” he calls, and Steve glances up to find him there, hair pushed back with a baseball cap and face lightly stubbled. “Sam! How ya doing.”

“Buck?” Steve tries not to let his worry show (he fails). “Uh – good, yeah. Listen, Buck –”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “ _You_ want to take me back,” he says, jabbing an accusing finger down at them. “Well, tough, cause I ain’t goin’, Stevie.” He leans back against the stairs, crossing his arms over his chest like he means business.

“We’re not here to take you back, Buck,” Steve says, holding his hands out to show they’re empty. Not a threat. “We’re here to help –”

“Look, pal,” Bucky fairly wrenches the cigarette from his lips, chucking it in Steve’s general direction (he misses). “I don’t _need_ your fuckin’ help or your pity or charity or, or whatever the fuck you think this is. I’m doin’ fine. Just – just leave me on my own.”

Steve’s heart clenches, and in another life, in another time, he might’ve done what Bucky asked and left him the hell alone, but it’s been seventy years and Steve likes to think he’s picked up a couple of things since 1935.

“You’ve read the file, haven’t you,” he says instead, and ignores the way Bucky’s spine stiffens and his whole face shutters.

He doesn’t leave, though, and Steve takes that as a sign to keep talking.

“You remember what you’ve done, what you’re capable of doing,” he continues, and next to him Sam hisses, “Steve, are you sure this is –” and Steve says, “ _Yes_ ” even though he’s never been less sure of anything in his entire life.

“Nobody else has to get hurt, Buck. Let us, let _me_ help you. You’re not gonna hurt us; Sam’s got wings and I’ve got,” Steve shrugs self-deprecatingly, “I’ve got Erskine’s drugs in my blood.”

Bucky shifts like he’s considering Steve’s offer, or like he’s preparing to bolt.

Steve ploughs on. “You know what I regret most? Putting that plane in the sea and going under when I coulda been out looking for you instead. I gave up too early, and left you fighting on your own and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t mean you gotta give up like I did.”

Bucky stands up, then, and clatters his way down the fire escape. He rushes at Steve and shoves him back against the alley wall. Sam moves to intercept and Steve stops him with a raised hand.

“Fucking _idiot_ ,” Bucky snarls, leaning in close so the tip of his nose brushes Steve’s, “Who gave you the right, huh? What made you think you coulda just drove that bird into the sea and _give up_ , just like that? You know how many _times_ Zola made me listen to the fucking broadcast, hm? And all the while me lying there on the table thinking this is it, because Stevie’s gone and he’s not coming for you and this is it, this is the end.”

He’s breathing hard by the end of it, and Steve curls a hand into the front of Bucky’s jacket (denim, two sizes too big for him; probably stolen from some junkie off the street, knowing him) and breathes, “ _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_ ,” into the skin of his neck.

-

They don’t go back to D.C. Instead Bucky leads them to the fifth floor of a tenement, jimmies the lock, and says, “Owners won’t be back ‘til end of the month,” to Steve’s scandalized expression.

It takes some convincing, but once Steve’s tried the shower (what? So the water pressure’s great, sue him, he hasn’t showered properly in weeks) he’s sold.

“Buck,” Steve says now, knocking and pushing the door of the spare bedroom open, “D’you need to borrow a sh– _shit_ , sorry.”

Bucky turns, toweling his hair dry, seemingly unconcerned about his nudity. “You were sayin’?”

“I, um. A shirt.” Steve is making a valiant effort, but the universe is evidently conspiring against him, because –

“Steve,” Bucky says. He sounds amused. “My eyes’re up here.”

Steve’s gaze snaps up to meet Bucky’s. His face is slowing turning the colour of the star on Bucky’s left arm. “Ri – right.” He swallows. “So, shirt?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Bucky bends down to grab his own, slightly-torn shirt off the floor and Steve hurriedly fixes his eyes on the top of the dresser. “And pants too, if you’ve got ‘em. Been wearing the same pair for about a week now.”

“O – okay,” Steve says, turning and hightailing it out of the room.

He returns with a bundle of clothes and holds them out for Bucky to take, keeping his eyes trained on his own feet.

“Thanks, pal,” Bucky says, padding across the floor, stepping into the sweatpants and pulling the shirt on.

Steve’s shoulders sag in relief the moment Bucky’s dressed, and he turns, tossing a, “Sam made spaghetti if you want some,” over his shoulder and makes to leave.

Bucky reaches out, snags the back of Steve’s shirt and spins him around.

“What –” Steve says, because Bucky’s eyes are looming, blue and electric and he _can’t_.

“Are we ever going to talk about this,” Bucky demands, getting into Steve’s personal space so they’re pressed chest to chest. Steve fancies he can feel Bucky’s heart, thrumming as fast as his is, beating in tandem underneath their rib cages.

“Talk about what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Rogers,” Bucky snaps, bringing his forearm (his _left_ forearm) up and pressing none-too-gently against Steve’s windpipe.

Steve sucks in a breath, eyes wide, wondering how much Bucky knows, how much he _remembers_.

“I – yeah,” he finally says, throat working. Bucky lets up, easing the pressure off his esophagus. “Yeah, Buck, we were together.”

“Yeah, I _know_ that, Captain Obvious,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. He taps his temple. “Still good for _some_ things, I guess, even if I can remember jack-all after 1976. You’re about the only thing I can remember.”

Steve knows (he’s suspected), but hearing its confirmation still hits him like a sucker-punch to the gut.

“So’s it because of some messed up deal you got about protecting my honour or some shit,” Bucky asks, “Because I swear to God, Stevie, if you’re only doing this out of some misplaced sense of –”

“No! No, it’s not,” Steve says, too quickly.

Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Then _what_ , Steve? What could it possibly be? Is it just because you like to suffer? Is it just because you like watching _me_ suffer?”

Steve reels back. “What? No, Buck, God no.”

“Rogers, I swear to _God_ –”

“It’s you, Buck, it’s you,” Steve blurts, and when Bucky tilts his head at him in confusion he hurries to say, “I don’t know how much you remember, but you’ve always – _we’ve_ never been an exclusive thing. You’d still go out with the dames and we usually only,” he makes an awkward gesture that he hopes conveys _fucked_ , “whenever you didn’t have a date that night and even during the war, I don’t think you ever wanted, I mean. You were always goin’ on about the skirts back home, Buck. I just don’t want you doin’ anything you’ll regret later.” _When you get the rest of your memories back_ _and realize_ I _was the mistake_.

Bucky’s silent for a beat. When Steve glances up he’s looking at Steve with an expression that’s torn between relief and pity (for Steve? Steve doesn’t want his pity).

“Stevie –”

“It’s fine, Buck,” Steve says shortly, and turns to shoulder his way out the door. “I understand.”

“No, Stevie, I –” Bucky steps around him, placing himself in front of the door. Steve opens his mouth to tell him to move so he can escape to the bathroom and quietly die, but Bucky darts in and presses his lips to Steve’s, a dry, chaste kiss that Steve’s too stunned to return.

Bucky pulls back, and he’s looking straight at Steve now, determined. “I know I’m not all here,” he taps the side of his head with a metal finger, “But believe me, Steve, I remember enough to know what the hell I wanted when it was just the two of us in that tent in ’43, tryin’ to stay quiet so DumDum and others couldn’t hear us.”

Steve shifts, quashing down the hope rising, swelling in his chest.

“And besides,” Bucky murmurs, close enough now that his lips brush Steve’s, “I’m pretty damn sure I’ve wanted that ass of yours since you hit puberty in 1933.”

Steve grins helplessly, his chest full to bursting. “Asshole,” he mutters against Bucky’s lips, “Puberty never hit me and you know it.”

“Oh, right, forgot,” Bucky smirks, flicks a finger at Steve’s sternum. “Puberty for you came in a bottle from Howard Stark when you were 21.”

“Are you ever gonna stop bringing that up,” Steve groans, and when Bucky opens his mouth to reply he says, “Don’t answer that,” and kisses his muffled protest right off his mouth.

-

There’s a knock on the bedroom door.

“Are you both decent?” Sam calls, because Sam is a saint and has kindly refrained from interrupting during the past hour while Steve and Bucky have been, um, _reacquainting_ themselves with each other’s bodies.

Steve reaches over the side of the bed and yanks on the first pair of pants his hand touches (they’re not his). Bucky sits up and pulls the sheet over his lap, running a hand through his mussed hair and grimacing when he finds dried come matted in it.

He jabs an accusing finger at Steve. “We’re doing this in the shower next time, Rogers.”

Steve smirks. “Not what you said thirty minutes ago, Buck.” Then, louder, so Sam can hear – “We’re all good.”

Sam sticks his head in. “There’s pasta in the fridge. Oh, and Natasha called, by the way. I asked her to leave a message but she says it’s for your ears only. She says it’s urgent; something about the national security of the country being at stake.”

Steve groans, scrubs a hand down his face. “Okay, okay. Just, gimme a minute.” He swipes a T-shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head. “I’ll call her in sec.”

It turns out Homeland Security _and_ Tony Stark are now on their asses, and Steve’s barely hung up on Natasha before he’s yelling at Sam and Bucky to pack their things, because they need to be out of here like, _yesterday_.

He turns to find Bucky with holding out his duffel bag, packed and ready, Steve’s shield in his other hand. His hair’s tied back and he’s wearing a fresh shirt, this one with the Stark Industries logo emblazoned across the chest.

“C’mon, Stevie, let’s go,” he says, “I know a place in Atlanta we can go.”

Steve takes the bag. “You can keep that,” he says, gesturing at the shield.

Bucky furrows his brow. “But what if you need –”

Steve smiles, leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of Bucky’s lips. “I’ve got you watching my six. Don’t need anythin’ else, do I?”

Bucky’s grin spreads across his face, slow but sure. “You idiot,” he says fondly, but he holds on to the shield.

“Are we leaving or what?” Sam calls from the living room.

“Yeah,” Steve says, holding out a hand, which Bucky takes. “Yeah, let’s get outta here.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey hope you enjoyed reading that xx so this is the first time i've tried to write anything for a movie before it's come out
> 
> idk how it turned out but drop me a comment if you liked it and we can all cry about what the russo brothers meant when they said the kiss was gonna be between two 'unexpected' characters
> 
> like the odds we'll be getting a stucky kiss is like below zero but. but the russos haven't disappointed us yet so far so fingers-crossed it'll be good


End file.
